father, she didn’t see her own demise yet. Soon Carlos would grow tired of her disloyalty, decide the trouble outweighed the effort, and have her eliminated. If only her mother hadn’t died. How different things would be.
Thoomp. Thoomp. The automatic ball feeder continued to serve, buzzing fuzzy yellow balls past her face. One large step toward the men brought her out of harm’s way. Or closer, depending on how you looked at it.
The two young men broke off from the group, moving wide to attack from the sides. Any person in their right mind would fear these two. It wasn’t that ink scrawled over their faces, dipped below the hem of their wife-beaters, and encased their arms. It was what the black doodles depicted. Faces, numbers, and acts of death polluted their brown skin. Heads severed from bodies. Bullets busting into a forehead. The skulls of Santa Muerte.
Carmen wasn’t in her right mind. High on sorrow and rage, she winked at Raf and simultaneously launched the racket at Saul’s head. The crunch and subsequent howl proved her aim true. Love game for Saul. Raf barreled in quick and heavy, fury rippling the ink imbedded around his mouth and forehead. At the last moment, she bent at the knees and waist, guided his momentum over her shoulder, and then stood, helping him flip.
The other men gave her no time to gloat, which was bad sportsmanship anyway. Though, integrity had no place in this life. Obviously it didn’t. She’d shot an unarmed man in the belly. Yeah, he’d been armed with his capable hands. Hands that, given the chance, would have inflicted serious damage. Why was she going over this again, when other men with less precision and more malice crowded her space?
They circled like starved coyotes on a wounded animal. Her heart bled, but her body craved a good fight. The man in front of her, with a tattooed one and zero split between his sunken cheeks, flipped a knife from his jean’s pocket. His capped teeth greeted her in a smile.
“Don’t kill her, for Christ’s sake,” her father yelled from far off.
“I’ll kill you for Santa Muerte,” Ten whispered.
Not unless I kill you first.
He lunged fast, aiming for her belly, but would have needed a sword to sink flesh. The man behind her backed off, giving them the dance floor. Not a fan of this particular tune, she stood her ground. He ran in this time, using quick choppy steps, and stabbed higher. The blade glittered in the early morning sun less than a foot from her face.
Carmen blocked hard with both forearms. The knife flew from his impotent grip. While his eyes followed the knife as it skittered over the slab, she plowed the back of her fist into his face. Bone snapped under the weight of the assault. His eyes shut and he fell to the ground, clutching his ten.
He’d threatened to kill her, in front of his friends. And he couldn't get away with that. She should turn and guard her back, but she wouldn’t. If she left him unpunished, she’d leave herself and Sophia more vulnerable in the future. Choking him was neat and tidy. So, she raised her foot high and stomped. Once. Twice. Three times before a body rammed into hers.
The damage had been done. His cheek deflated into a pile of blood and teeth. He wouldn’t die, but he’d never talk right again. A bold statement for a bold threat.
Looking back at her ugly triumph twisted her body so that her shoulders took the brunt of the tackle. Great for her lungs. Not so great for her brain. The horizon and all the gorillas on it blurred a wash of white that smeared to black.
The whine in her ears built to a full-fledged ring. A chorus of church bells played, refusing her the peace of unconsciousness. Rough hands dug into her armpits and the bite of rock and earth scraped her left knee. Carmen fought with her legs, willing them to kick or at the very least shuffle along and save her skin. The din of voices, muffled and loud, and the damn ringing muted her order. Her body hung in the
Thoomp. Thoomp. The automatic ball feeder continued to serve, buzzing fuzzy yellow balls past her face. One large step toward the men brought her out of harm’s way. Or closer, depending on how you looked at it.
The two young men broke off from the group, moving wide to attack from the sides. Any person in their right mind would fear these two. It wasn’t that ink scrawled over their faces, dipped below the hem of their wife-beaters, and encased their arms. It was what the black doodles depicted. Faces, numbers, and acts of death polluted their brown skin. Heads severed from bodies. Bullets busting into a forehead. The skulls of Santa Muerte.
Carmen wasn’t in her right mind. High on sorrow and rage, she winked at Raf and simultaneously launched the racket at Saul’s head. The crunch and subsequent howl proved her aim true. Love game for Saul. Raf barreled in quick and heavy, fury rippling the ink imbedded around his mouth and forehead. At the last moment, she bent at the knees and waist, guided his momentum over her shoulder, and then stood, helping him flip.
The other men gave her no time to gloat, which was bad sportsmanship anyway. Though, integrity had no place in this life. Obviously it didn’t. She’d shot an unarmed man in the belly. Yeah, he’d been armed with his capable hands. Hands that, given the chance, would have inflicted serious damage. Why was she going over this again, when other men with less precision and more malice crowded her space?
They circled like starved coyotes on a wounded animal. Her heart bled, but her body craved a good fight. The man in front of her, with a tattooed one and zero split between his sunken cheeks, flipped a knife from his jean’s pocket. His capped teeth greeted her in a smile.
“Don’t kill her, for Christ’s sake,” her father yelled from far off.
“I’ll kill you for Santa Muerte,” Ten whispered.
Not unless I kill you first.
He lunged fast, aiming for her belly, but would have needed a sword to sink flesh. The man behind her backed off, giving them the dance floor. Not a fan of this particular tune, she stood her ground. He ran in this time, using quick choppy steps, and stabbed higher. The blade glittered in the early morning sun less than a foot from her face.
Carmen blocked hard with both forearms. The knife flew from his impotent grip. While his eyes followed the knife as it skittered over the slab, she plowed the back of her fist into his face. Bone snapped under the weight of the assault. His eyes shut and he fell to the ground, clutching his ten.
He’d threatened to kill her, in front of his friends. And he couldn't get away with that. She should turn and guard her back, but she wouldn’t. If she left him unpunished, she’d leave herself and Sophia more vulnerable in the future. Choking him was neat and tidy. So, she raised her foot high and stomped. Once. Twice. Three times before a body rammed into hers.
The damage had been done. His cheek deflated into a pile of blood and teeth. He wouldn’t die, but he’d never talk right again. A bold statement for a bold threat.
Looking back at her ugly triumph twisted her body so that her shoulders took the brunt of the tackle. Great for her lungs. Not so great for her brain. The horizon and all the gorillas on it blurred a wash of white that smeared to black.
The whine in her ears built to a full-fledged ring. A chorus of church bells played, refusing her the peace of unconsciousness. Rough hands dug into her armpits and the bite of rock and earth scraped her left knee. Carmen fought with her legs, willing them to kick or at the very least shuffle along and save her skin. The din of voices, muffled and loud, and the damn ringing muted her order. Her body hung in the
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